


A Christmas Tree Elf

by silver_etoile



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28219008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: Robbe doesn’t have a tree in his flat—real or otherwise, and the lot feels like getting lost in a winter forest if he pretends hard enough. What has him coming back day after day to linger awkwardly behind trees and pretend as if he might actually take one home, ishim.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 7
Kudos: 83





	A Christmas Tree Elf

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://azozzoni.tumblr.com).

Most of the trees on the lot are only slightly taller than Robbe, full and green with the thick scent of pine all around him as he inhales slowly and brushes a few dried needs off a branch, admiring the roundness of this particular tree. He shivers in the chill breeze coming off the street. For days, the sky has been grey, threatening snow but never quite coming through on the promise. Robbe wishes it would just snow, instead of this weird anticipation.

It’s been a long day for Robbe, between his boss making a million changes to the video he’s been working on to his coworkers never-ending chatter about their holiday plans. He couldn’t resist stopping in the tree lot for the fifth time this week. It always feels so festive even though it’s just a bunch of trees, generic holiday music playing over the loudspeaker, a few twinkly lights over the sign. But that’s enough for Robbe to feel a little bit better.

Cold in his hat and scarf, Robbe can’t help peeking around the tall tree in front of him, over to the makeshift hut where customers are supposed to pay. He’s not looking for someone to help him but rather someone helping someone else.

This particular tree lot isn’t far from Robbe’s flat, somewhere he passes regularly on the way home from work. The first time he’d come in, it had only been to look around. He doesn’t have a tree in his flat—real or otherwise, and the lot feels like getting lost in a winter forest if Robbe pretends hard enough.

What has him coming back day after day to linger awkwardly behind trees and pretend as if he might actually take one home, is _him_.

Robbe doesn’t think of himself as the obsessive type—he simply admires the guy who works the lot, wearing a ridiculous green and red elf hat, who hands out candy canes to the kids, whose whole face lights up when he smiles, his clear ringing laugh that echoes in Robbe’s head long after he’s gone home.

He doesn’t know the guy’s name—just that he’s got shaggy brown hair, the tips fading with bleach, soft blue eyes, and that the elf hat clashes with the leather jacket he’s always got on.

Right now, he’s talking to some kids while their parents pick out a tree, and Robbe can’t hear what he’s saying, but the kids are laughing. It makes him smile, stupidly.

It also makes him glad no one is here to see him hiding behind a tall spruce tree, peering through the branches at a guy who keeps candy canes in his back pocket.

Sighing, Robbe steps back. What is he going to do once Christmas comes and lot is taken down? The guy will probably disappear with it.

He should probably leave, Robbe thinks, gazing up at the tree, but where does he have to go? Back to his empty flat all by himself? It’s the first Christmas he’ll spend without his flat mates since Zoe got engaged to Senne and they finally moved in together and Milan took a job back in the Netherlands. He can’t say he feels particularly festive this year.

“She’s a pretty one.”

A voice behind Robbe makes him jump, stumbling back, breath caught in his throat as his eyes fall on the guy, him, _the one_. Shaking that stupid thought from his brain, Robbe swallows down his heart beating fast. He’s caught.

The guy is obviously talking about the tree, Robbe reminds himself.

“Yeah,” he hears himself agree, the only word he can come up with so close to the guy he’s been… okay, spying on, for the last week. Somehow, he never thought they’d actually speak.

“Want me to wrap her up?” the guy asks, friendly blue eyes boring into Robbe’s. Or at least, that’s what it feels like as he stands there in the cold, fingers going numb despite his gloves.

“Uh, no, I can’t,” he says, quickly, shaking his head. 

The guy seems to smile slightly, head tilting to the side. “You can’t,” he repeats, not really a question. “So why do you wander around this lot all the time?”

The guy has definitely noticed—not that Robbe has been super inconspicuous about it—and Robbe doesn’t have an answer that doesn’t involve, _‘So I can admire you.’_ He’s not usually quite so dumbstruck when it comes to pretty guys, but something about this one leaves him feeling as if all the air in his lungs has suddenly gone out of him.

“I mean, there’s no way I could get it up to my flat,” he says, eyes darting to the guy’s, the warmth there, almost amusement as Robbe flails for excuses. “It’s a fourth-floor walk-up. I’ll probably just get a fake one.”

“A fake tree?” the guy asks, eyebrows rising in mock outrage, and God, he’s pretty, Robbe finds himself thinking. “That’s not acceptable.”

“Uh, well,” Robbe flounders, not really having an argument. To give him more time to think, he glances down at the guy’s jacket instead, eyes falling on a little name tag sticker on his shoulder. Sander. It’s a nice name.

“I could help you get it to your place,” Sander says, surprising Robbe as he glances up.

“What?” He knows Christmas is a time for giving and helping your fellow man, but it seems just a little weird that a stranger is offering to help Robbe get a Christmas tree home.

Sander smiles, and Robbe wishes it didn’t melt his heart. “No one should have an artificial tree. It defeats the whole purpose. If you’re gonna do it, you have to do it right.”

Robbe isn’t sure he’s ever done Christmas in a way people would consider “right.” At the moment, the only festive thing in his whole flat is the mug Milan got him last year with a picture of the Sint on it.

Maybe Sander has a point, he admits, but it doesn’t change the fact that it would mean showing a total stranger where he lives. Being lonely over the holidays is one thing. Finally talking to the guy he’s been thinking about for days is another. Inviting him back to his flat the first time they talk? Potentially insane.

Then again, he reasons as Sander seems to smile as if he knows about the debate in his head, delivery people know where he lives and none of them have ever been serial killers.

As he hesitates, Sander standing in front of him, an expectant expression on his face, Robbe feels an icy prick on his nose. Glancing up, he blinks at the swirl of snowflakes fluttering down from the sky. As they stand there, the snow floats gently around them, as if they’re standing inside a giant snowglobe, white and magical.

Okay. He can take a hint.

“Yeah,” he says finally as the snow settles on Sander’s stupid hat with the fake elf ears. “I guess I could use the help.”

Sander’s smile widens as he nods. “I get off in ten minutes. I’ll get this ready for you. Don’t go anywhere.”

Robbe isn’t planning on it as he takes a deep breath and shoves his hands deep in his pockets, glancing up at the sky. The snow falls steadily, covering the trees in the lot in a glistening frost. If the universe is trying to tell him something, he’s listening. 

*

Sander’s elf hat has been exchanged for a dark grey beanie, and his nose and cheeks are pink as they finally reach Robbe’s building and Robbe fumbles with his key to the main door.

“I wasn’t kidding about the walk-up,” he says as they shuffle inside, both carrying one end of the seemingly gigantic tree. Robbe isn’t actually sure it will fit in his tiny living room. Maybe he should have thought this through a little more before being caught by Sander skulking around the tree lot.

“I’m strong,” Sander assures him, smiling when Robbe meets his gaze. “And no one should celebrate the holidays without some kind of decorations.”

They don’t talk much as they start up the stairs, maneuvering around the many corners, huffing as they pull it up flight after flight. Robbe’s gloves are sticky with sap as he pulls up the trunk onto the last landing, pausing to take a breath, glancing at Sander coming up behind.

“Bet you’re regretting offering to help now,” he says, mostly joking, pulling off his hat and scarf, too hot from the effort of dragging a tree up four floors. Stuffing them in the pockets of his coat, he huffs out a breath.

Sander merely smiles, pulling off his hat, leaving his hair messy, sticking up in places. He’s even cuter this way. Shaking himself, Robbe pulls back his thoughts. He doesn’t even know Sander, and a passing attraction isn’t reason enough to do something stupid.

“Not yet,” Sander says, reaching for the trunk again. “Come.”

Taking another fortifying breath, Robbe grabs his end and drags the tree down the hall. They’re almost there.

His flat is at the end and the key sticks as he gets it unlocked, kicking the bottom of the door open. It swings open to his small living room, dark as Robbe drags the tree inside and feels around for the light switch on the wall.

A singular light comes on over the entryway and Robbe pulls the tree through the doorway, knowing Sander follows him.

As he leaves the tree on the floor, Robbe hurries to switch on a few of the lamps, a soft yellow glow falling over the worn furniture that came with the place. The living isn’t very big—just large enough to squish a couch and a chair together, the TV sitting on top of an old bookshelf in the corner, not that Robbe watches much TV. It’s definitely not an impressive flat.

“I don’t have a stand,” he says as he realizes, glancing around the room. Where is he even going to put this thing? He doesn’t have a stand or lights or ornaments. What was he thinking?

He was thinking that Sander is too cute to say no to, even now as Sander makes a thoughtful noise, taking in the room as well.

“We’ll just prop it up in the corner for now. You can get a stand tomorrow.”

It’s somewhat of a solution, Robbe admits as Sander grabs the tree and rolls it into the corner by the TV. It does manage to fit, though a few of the branches stick in front of the TV as Sander cuts off the cords holding it tight. It does smell good, though, like a forest in his tiny flat.

Now that the tree is up, Robbe hesitates. What are they supposed to do now? Is Sander going to leave? Does Robbe even want him to stay?

“Do you have any decorations?” Sander asks, fluffing the tree, brushing a few dead needles off.

“Not really,” Robbe says, watching Sander inspecting the tree. He hadn’t really thought this through.

There’s a glint in Sander’s eye as he turns back to Robbe. “Then we’ll just have to make some.”

“Make…?” Robbe frowns slightly, unsure as Sander pulls off his jacket as though maybe he’s planning staying a while.

“Do you have paper? Scissors?”

“Yeah,” Robbe says slowly, but he doesn’t go get them immediately, too taken in at how at home Sander looks as he sinks onto Robbe’s couch and clears the mess off the coffee table. He could get used to that. 

If he ever actually said anything to Sander.

Turning, he heads for the kitchen, rummaging for scissors, tape, paper, anything he can find that he thinks Sander might like.

“Sit,” Sander says, gentle but firm, nodding at the space next to him when Robbe returns. Robbe does, but delicately, careful not to slide too close on the lopsided cushions.

Peeling off his gloves, he tosses them on the other chair along with his jacket. He isn’t sure what Sander is about to do as he cuts a piece of paper into fourths.

“I should warn you, I’m not very artistic,” Robbe says, unsure when Sander hands him a piece. He may know how to edit videos—that is his job after all—but that’s about the extent of his artistic talent.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Sander says simply, grinning at Robbe. “Just fold your piece of paper and it’ll turn out great, I’m sure.”

Robbe follows Sander’s instructions despite his doubts. “So,” he says as he presses the creases together, “is tree elf your full-time job?”

Sander laughs, reaching for the scissors. “I’m a freelance artist, but I gotta do what I have to to put food on the table. Tree elf is just a bonus.”

“You’re an artist,” Robbe repeats, eyebrows rising. “You’re definitely gonna be better at this than me.”

“Give yourself some credit,” Sander says, knocking his shoulder playfully. “We haven’t even started. You just take the scissors and make little cuts. Any shape you want. Big, small, round, square.”

Biting his lip, Robbe grabs the extra pair of scissors and stares at his folded square. Instead of cutting, he glances over at Sander, who has already started. He moves fast, tiny pieces of paper fluttering onto the table as quickly as the snow building up on the windowsill outside.

“Don’t think about it so much,” Sander says, gentle, smiling at Robbe. “Maybe we need some music to get you in the groove.”

Robbe isn’t sure that will make him any better at this, but he doesn’t stop Sander from pulling his phone from his pocket and opening the music app.

“Bowie?” Robbe asks as the music fills the room, and Sander grins.

“You know him?”

“Of course.” Robbe may not be the biggest music guy, but he knows the classics.

“He’s my favorite,” Sander says, sincere, and Robbe does feel more relaxed now as the music plays and Sander hums along. “If I could go back in time, I would definitely choose 1987, Bowie’s concert in West Berlin. It was a historical moment.”

Robbe smiles at Sander, the enthusiasm in his voice. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have a moment like that, but it’s nice that Sander does.

For a moment, Robbe just listens to the song playing on Sander’s phone, cutting his paper without really thinking. It’s kind of nice, sitting here with Sander, listening to Sander occasionally singing along, the way Sander smiles at him as if they’ve known each other longer than the half an hour it took to get the tree to his flat.

Robbe feels like he knows Sander, from the many days he spent watching him at the lot. He knows he’s nice to kids, tells jokes that make them laugh, doesn’t mind standing out in the freezing cold all day just so people can find the perfect Christmas tree. All of his friends would say he’s crazy for saying something like that when he’s only just spoken to Sander. But Robbe believes in fate and the magic of Christmas.

“Okay, let’s see,” Sander says when he sets down his scissors and turns to Robbe.

Hesitating, Robbe holds up his paper, unfolding it carefully with Sander, revealing a small, square-ish paper snowflake.

“Beautiful,” Sander assures him, even though Sander’s looks far better.

“It’s too square,” Robbe says, but Sander shakes his head.

“It’s good! We’re going to make plenty more and they’ll all be unique. Because all snowflakes are unique.”

“I haven’t done Christmas crafts since I was, like, five years old,” Robbe admits as Sander hands him another piece of paper.

“That is the magic of Christmas,” Sander assures him with a gentle nudge, eyes wide as he gazes at Robbe. “Making memories.”

As Sander gazes at him and Robbe’s heart thuds in his chest, he’s pretty sure he’s never going to forget this.

*

Snowflakes of all shapes and sizes cover the coffee table, tiny pieces of paper littering the floor like confetti. Beside Robbe, Sander is working on cutting out a star-shaped paper chain, taping them together to form a chain long enough to drape all up the tree.

“What took you so long to get a tree?” Sander asks, concentrating on cutting carefully along the lines. He does nod at Robbe’s bare walls, and Robbe frowns.

“I guess it just hasn’t felt like Christmas much this year,” he says after a minute. Aside from the holidays, Robbe hasn’t even really gotten around to decorating the flat much at all.

Sander glances up from his stars. “Why not?”

Robbe shrugs. “It’s the first year without my flat mates. They’re all moving on, which is good for them. But it can be lonely.”

Sander hums thoughtfully. “Well, lucky for you, I love Christmas and I’m not leaving here until this place feels like the North Pole.”

“You don’t have to,” Robbe says before he can stop himself, and Sander shakes his head.

“It’s part of my duty as the tree elf,” he assures Robbe, and Robbe can’t help laughing. “To bring holiday spirit to anyone in need.”

“Anyone?” Robbe asks, and Sander jerks his shoulder.

“Okay, maybe just the cute ones.”

Robbe’s stomach does a silly little flip at Sander’s words, the way Sander smiles at him, and he feels the blush on his cheeks as he looks away.

“We should put some of these on the tree,” he says, clearing his throat, grabbing a handful of snowflakes and standing up.

He feels more than hears Sander step up behind him, the warmth hovering inches from his back as he tries to place the snowflakes. Some hang and some just sit nestled among the branches, and Robbe swallows as Sander reaches for his shoulder to reposition one.

“It’s all about symmetry,” Sander murmurs in his ear, and Robbe finds himself nodding.

Robbe doesn’t move with Sander over his shoulder, too close to be a coincidence, and he knows if he turns just a little bit, he could kiss him.

The song on the phone changes to something Robbe has never heard—Bowie and Bing Crosby singing a soft, lilting Christmas medley. The music fills the room as he stands there and Sander drops his hand. For a moment, time stands still as Robbe gazes at the tree, empty of lights or sparkling ornaments but decorated in simple white paper that shines in a different kind of way. Outside, snow fills up the streets, piles neatly on top of street lights, and people leave crunchy footprints behind as they trudge on with their lives.

But it’s warm in here, lamp light casting soft shadows on the walls, the only sound the music drifting from the phone. It hasn’t been the easiest winter for Robbe, getting used to being alone, finding his way through a real, full-time job, spending too much time dreaming of finding someone to share it with. But he’s always believed that things happen for a reason, and maybe there’s a reason Sander talked to him today, helped him lug this tree all the way home, stayed to help him make decorations when he could have just left.

Robbe takes a breath, small, before he turns, meets Sander’s gaze, the warmth even in the cool blue of his eyes. Sander’s mouth quirks first, into a smile, like he knows exactly what Robbe’s thinking, is thinking the same thing.

Sander’s fingers slide along his cheek first, gentle, careful, to the back of his neck, sinking into his hair. As their foreheads meet, Robbe exhales, heart fluttering in his throat now, but he’s not nervous. It feels like this is how it’s meant to be when Sander leans in and kisses him.

It doesn’t last long, just long enough that Robbe finds himself wanting more, rising up on his toes to meet Sander.

“I never got your name,” Sander murmurs against his lips, and Robbe laughs, feeling stupid.

“It’s Robbe,” he says, and Sander nods.

“Well, Robbe,” he says, quietly, brushing their mouths together, and Robbe closes his eyes. He could do this forever. “Are you happy with your tree?”

“Very happy,” Robbe assures him, smiling when Sander kisses him again, slower this time, deeper, and he holds on tighter, arms sliding around Sander’s shoulders. “I should get an artist to do it every year.”

Sander smiles at that, pulling away to rest his forehead against Robbe’s, as if they fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle.

“We haven’t finished decorating,” he says, and Robbe nods.

“Yeah,” he agrees, but he doesn’t move, not with his arms around Sander. He knew there was a reason he went into the lot today. Not that he’d known this would happen, but maybe he’d hoped. Maybe he’d hoped that Sander would finally notice him, that they’d get to talk and he’d find out that Sander isn’t just a pretty face. And he has.

They’ll finish decorating in a minute, he thinks as he leans up to kiss Sander again. And they’ll talk and drink hot cocoa and spend the rest of the night curled on the couch. And as they do, Robbe will agree that maybe he should listen to the universe more often.

*

FIN.


End file.
